


Love Will Tear Us Apart

by ladywilde



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: AU, Angst, Dark, Femslash, Future, Multi, Slash, various - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywilde/pseuds/ladywilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is at war with itself and they are at war with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Will Tear Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Written for heroes_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Written+for+heroes_fest).



Love Will Tear Us Apart  
Word Count: 7509  
Rated: R  
Warnings: sexuality (m/m, f/f, f/m) angst, violence, language, character death, and some disturbing imagery  
Summary: In the future, the world is at war with itself and they are at war with each other.

Pairings Overall: Hiro x Adam, Peter x Adam, Sylar x Adam, Sylar x Mohinder, Peter x Claire, Claire x Elle, Peter x Sylar, Peter x Elle.

Written for heroes_fest Prompt 16. Adam/any (het or slash) trying to bring them to the dark side with promises of glory.

Also for the mission insane table: master plot, prompt: temptation.

Huge thank you's to aestheticized for the wonderful edits and the amazing feedback. Words cannot express the confidence you have given me. Thank you x 1000. *loves*  
X posted Everywhere.

AN: All song lyrics by Tori Amos. No copyright infringement intended.

 

I.  
Code Red  
Peter and Elle

~ Slip and slide my way through this charade  
I know all the players and I must say do this long enough - you get a taste for it. ~

 

***  
He tries to remember what she looked like as a blonde, tries to recall honey blonde locks, but he can't. All he can see now when he looks at her is someone else. Someone who is and is not the woman of his dreams.

Her pale face framed by dark red hair is a stranger's face and he is left to pull back layers of time until at last he can see her as she was, glorious and full of beauty.

But this subdued, quiet woman with the bad dye job and sad cobalt eyes is not the same one that he loved so long ago. There is no sparkle of mischief in her eyes, no smile left to be given.  
Her mouth droops down at the corners now with the weight of the entire world behind it.  
Peter knows that he cannot offer her anything that would quell her unhappiness.

He has made her promises of salvation before – told her that somehow he would fix things for her, for everyone, but in the end he had failed her and himself. There is nothing left for either of them but to spend forever now wandering amongst the tattered remains of everything that could have been. The world outside is on fire, turning itself into ash and as always they as powerless to anyone least of all themselves.

"Let me save you."

"Why bother?" she would say making his heart clench and hurt.

Because I love you.

He wanted to tell her but couldn't. It wouldn't have made a difference.

Elle Bishop no longer believed in love. After a while he began to feel the same. After all what had love ever done for anyone? Any one of them?

He knows this and yet even still there is still a trace, however small, of the young man he had once been. That hopeful, idealistic man who had fallen for this sad, beautiful blonde and had wanted a life, a chance at one with her and only her.

He still remembers the joy of getting to know her, all of her, of peeling back all of her vulnerable, childish and unpredictable layers and loving her all the harder despite her faults.

But that was before, before the end – before…everything.

They barely speak now and as strained and as frustrating as their relationship has become, Peter knows in his heart that he would never leave her. For despite everything that has happened there is a part of him that knows that he owes her far too much to simply pack his things and leave her to rot, to flounder alone in a world that has poisoned her mind and left her little more than a shell.

Confident, vulnerable, girlish, sexy - a contradiction of colliding and interlocking terms. She had been all of that and more when he had first fallen for her but then the world had grown dark and in its wake, the cruelty of that darkness had marked her, and slowly, year by year - it wore her down. It changed her, has changed them both, and there is nothing he can do now to right it.

He tried.

For as much as he looked for signs and clues, there was no one place to which he could travel back and fix the mess of their lives for her. Instead, he could only try and love her, hold on to her and each other, and silently pray that the world would right itself.

And that one day she would come back to him.

 

II.

None So Blind

Hiro and Adam, Peter and Adam

~ Well I know we're dying  
And there's no sign of a parachute ~

 

***

Adam doesn't recognize him at first.

They lock eyes from across a crowded street and it is as if time stops. It is in that split second, one that seems to encompass an eternity, that Adam makes the startling connection between the darkly dressed Asian stranger with the slicked back hair and dangerous look and the young man that he had once known, many, many years ago in Japan.

However improbable, they are the same man.

Time and experience has changed him. He can see that quite clearly in those bottomless black eyes that refuse to relinquish their hold on his own. The element of surprise starts to shift; Adam takes a step, two, towards him, but in the second that it takes him to blink, Hiro is gone, almost as if he had never been there to begin with.

Adam stands there on the street corner, one foot on solid ground, the other hovering above the streets. Uncertainty fills him, leaving him to wonder what it was he saw.

Or what it all meant to begin with.

 

***

When Adam gets to his apartment, having taking the elevator up to a sprawling penthouse suite overlooking the city, he opens the front door to find that he has company.

Peter is standing in the center of his living room, waiting for him.

Adam closes the door tersely. He is still trying to make heads or tails of what he saw earlier. Peter is a surprising and none too welcome sight at the moment. There are other more pressing concerns. Still, he is careful not to dismiss Peter outright.

He nods in Peter's direction, noticing as he does so that the other man has helped himself to his scotch. It doesn't surprise him. Peter has been drinking more and more lately.

Adam tosses his overcoat on the arm of a chair as he passes, making his way towards Peter who raises his glass towards him, offering him a drink.

"Want one?"

"Is this a social visit?" Adam asks casually, nodding as Peter sets his glass down and busies himself with fixing Adam one of the same.

"I don't know; you tell me," Peter says as he hands the drink over and Adam sips it thoughtfully.

"I thought we decided that a clean break was for the best," Adam starts.

"For who?"

"For you. For you and that poor woman you are so attached to…"

Peter is suddenly angry. "Leave her out of this," he says, an edge to his tone.

There is a pause. "Why are you here?" Adam finally asks.

Peter sighs, suddenly diffused of his anger by the suddenly soft tone in Adam's voice. "I'm not sure…"

"Liar - come here," he says as he pulls Peter towards him by the back of his neck.

"You've grown up." There's a wry smile on his lips as he says those words.

Peter in turn looks sick. "I had no choice," he whispers bitterly as he thinks back on the years before, years spent fighting head and heart for the truth of himself and finding nothing but trouble for his efforts.

"I know," Adam says, and now his hands are up and under Peter's shirt, feeling smooth taut muscle underneath.

Peter leans into him, lets Adam kiss down his neck, teeth grazing his ear.

"You could have been everything to me, Peter…" The feel of Peter's tears warm and hot against his face is the only answer he receives.

 

III.

The Rules of Engagement

Sylar and Mohinder, Adam and Sylar

 

~You say you don't want it again  
And again but you don't really mean it  
You say you don't want it  
This circus we're in  
But you don't you don't really mean it  
You don't really mean it~

 

For the last five years he has forgotten how to sleep. He is up and still pacing well after midnight, up and about, fixing things around the apartment before early morning.

His mind will not let him rest – thinking back on the life he had before, however brief. He realizes that some of the sacrifices that he's made had been worth it. After all he couldn't have left Mohinder there in that place – nor left his poor, broken mind to remember what they had done to him.

He'd never been one for causes unless they had served his own needs. But this, this was unacceptable. He had agreed to Peter's plan and working with the other man had brought its own complications, ones fraught with dangers – but Peter was always so noble, so good.

"Why the hell are we doing this?" Sylar remembers asking him.

Peter had looked at him than as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. "For the people we love…"

It should have been harder – the hard part was afterwards, the going underground, and by the time Mohinder started to remember him, who they were to each other. It didn't take long for that look of gratitude to become replaced by the bitter hatred that had colored their entire relationship.

By the time he realized he would lose him and lose him forever, it was too late, he was in love with Mohinder.

He who had never asked anyone for anything – had asked Peter to help him. Peter could see the pain and the hurt and he did what he could do, as he would one day do for the woman he loved.

They did not realize that the brokenness would remain – memory gone – but not the trauma of what they had endured at the clutches of the Company's brutality. It was little more than a raw open nerve that they could not decipher and it killed him, killed Sylar and Peter both.

It had been five years since he had seen Peter; they had not parted on the best of terms after the failure of their experiment. Mohinder grew worse and worse everyday and there was no way for him fix him, to have them fix each other.

Mohinder finds him the kitchen where is his staring down at the table with his head in hands.

"Hey…" he says and Sylar looks up. "Still not sleeping?" Mohinder asks, frowning slightly.

 

"No… I slept," he lies. "Come here…"

 

Mohinder comes over and leans down, letting Sylar kiss him good morning. It is moments such as these when Mohinder is receptive and warm and willing in his arms that he does not regret what he has done, what it has cost the person that he loves.

 

That is the worst of it, the guilt of knowing that even still after everything he would do it all over again.

***

 

He waits until he is sure Mohinder is asleep before he leaves the apartment. His destination is a short one but it might as well be the other side of the world from him. He parks in the parking garage and makes his way to the elevators and then down the long plush hallways with crystal chandeliers, mirrored walls, chrome and gold fixtures. The opulence is overwhelming and he is aware, quite aware of his body thirsting for this – this, all of this could have been his; he had the keys to ultimate power, but those goals had been lost. It is too late now.

 

He had made his bed; he is the one who has chained himself to this life.

 

He doesn't knock. He knows Adam is expecting him, and the room is dark but he can hear the other heartbeat. He shuts the door and steps into the room.

"How much time do we have?"

 

There is weariness in Sylar's voice when he answers. "A few hours…"

 

"A pity…"

 

He feels hands on him and he uses them to shove the smaller man up against the wall, so that he can crush their lips together.

 

Sylar is rough with him, rougher and more dominating than he will ever be with Mohinder.  
It feels good to unleash his powers – hold Adam with his mind against walls, tighten invisible hands around his throat as he fucks him. To break the skin with cuts and bruises that heal right before his eyes. The beauty of it is that they both get off on it: Adam relinquishing the reins of power over to him and Sylar can't get enough of it. He hates himself for needing this – but he can't help himself. He comes back time and time again to give into his depravity.

 

There is nothing loving in their couplings, nothing that speaks of what Sylar has with Mohinder. However misguided, he does not love this man, nor even like him, but he is a habit Sylar cannot break, try as he might.

 

Afterwards, as he buttons up his shirt and reaches for his shoes, he hears Adam sit up in bed next to him, touch his back. Sylar moves away from the touch, almost unconsciously.

 

"I saw Peter…"

 

Sylar stiffens at those words, and turns towards the other man. There is a moment of silence before Sylar turns back to his shoes in hand. "What did he want?"

 

"What do you think? The same thing you both want…"

 

Lacing up his boot, Sylar gets up and looks down at Adam coldly. "I have no idea what you're talking about…"

 

"Of course you don't," Adam says and there is a smile on his face, though his eyes reflect the sadness in his words.

 

"All the potential in the world, both of you, and you squander it away on guilt."

 

Those words are like a bolt of lightening – painful but all too true. Sylar knows it, but it doesn't make it any easier to hear. "Shut up, Adam," he growls, low and mean.

 

Adam meets his eyes and, after a moment, shrugs. "You better get home now," he says, slight mocking in his tone. "You wouldn't want him to wake up and find you gone now, would you?"

 

Sylar doesn't say another word. His eyes narrow with anger as he stomps out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

IV.

The Importance of Family

Peter and Claire

 

~Lucky me  
I guessed the kind of man  
that you would turn out to be  
now I wish that I'd been wrong and then  
I could remember to breathe~

 

***

Where once Claire Bennet's eyes shone with only admiration, looking to him as if he and he alone could save her, save everyone, they now only shone with her tears, with the hopelessness of unrequited love. But how could he tell her now that he wasn't that man, not anymore, never really had been? Tell her how much he deserved the now bitter resentment reflected in her gray blue eyes? He ponders her ageless face, the both of them preserved in their youth, and yet she looks nothing at all like the innocent young girl he knew a lifetime ago.

The glare of her eyes is hard and menacing. Her lips – once plump and soft are curled up in anger … now when they kiss him they no longer taste of purity and dreams but of anger and fear and regret, the weight of her disappointments behind them.

 

"Where does she think you are?" Claire asks as she slides into the passenger's seat and shut the door behind her.

 

"Out."

 

"Nice not to have a woman who clings…"

 

"Cut it out, Claire," he tells her gruffly.

 

"Sure, whatever… where are we going?"

 

"I don't know. Anywhere, I just… I needed to see you." His voice softens as he turns towards her and her hands find his, squeeze as he starts to drive.

 

"You look – scared, Peter. I thought…" Her voice trails off.

 

"That we were safe?" He laughs out loud at that. "We'll never be safe Claire, any of us."

 

He is quiet. Then, after a moment, Claire speaks: "You went and saw Adam."

 

Her insight startles him but only for a moment as he's used to Claire having odd insight into his thoughts and feelings. "I did."

 

"And then what? Did he make you a thousand and one promises? Or did you two just fuck?"

 

Peter pulls the car over and shuts off the engine before he turns to Claire and pulls her towards him roughly, fingertips digging into the fleshy part of her arm. "Why do you have to say things like that?"

 

"Because it's the truth. Now – let – go – of – me," she hisses through clenched teeth and sure enough he lets her go, before turning and slapping his hand against the steering wheel in a sudden burst of anger. There is quiet as Peter leans his head against the window, not looking at her.

"You know you're not the only one." Peter doesn't answer her. Claire presses on. "You know he's still seeing Sylar."

 

At the mention of his former friend, former enemy, Peter cringes. It has been a long time since he's seen the other man. Perhaps the time has come to mend bridges; after all, they shared so much of the same pains and hurts. "I don't care who Adam sees, or Sylar for that matter…"

 

"You're so blind Peter, always so…naïve. He's played the both of you for fools."

 

"Shut up." Peter turns to her sharply, holds up a hand in warning.

 

"You know, Peter, I have spent all these years, all of them, being some thing – some girl to you. I am your family when it's convenient and your lover when it isn't. Tell me what is so special about Adam and Elle? Tell me why you keep crawling back to them, time and time again."

 

"Claire, you and me…" Peter can't stand the pain and hurt in her eyes. He has to look away.

 

"Don't," Claire says with a simple shake of her head. "I don't need yet another lecture from you on the importance of family."

 

Peter's throat is dry – he reaches for, shims her tears with his knuckles. "I know. I'm sorry, " he whispers as he reaches for her across the seat and draws her into his arms. "I'm sorry."

 

V.

Out of the Past

Peter and Sylar

 

~I say  
You are not alone  
In your darkness  
You are not alone  
Baby  
You are not alone~

 

***

They agree to meet in a parking garage late at night. Peter is already there, mentally preparing himself for this particular reunion when Sylar pulls into the parking space beside him. Peter waits on pins and needles as Sylar takes his time getting out of his car and making his way over to where Peter is waiting for him by the trunk of a stranger's car.

Sylar takes a moment to study Peter, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest looking nervous and ill at ease. The fact that Peter is edgy and hesitant around him makes Sylar smile secretly to himself as he feels for a time like himself again; it has been far too long. He spends just a moment relishing the feeling before he pushes it aside and concentrates on the purpose of their meeting. "Hello, Peter," Sylar says slowly, carefully.

Peter relaxes slightly - he glances around the empty garage as if expecting someone else but there is no one else. Sylar's super hearing attests to that. It is just the two of them.

"I didn't think you would come."

"What can I say… curiosity got the best of me," Sylar says with a noncommittal shrug.

It's the truth: he doesn't hate Peter, not exactly, and he is not sure if he should tell him this or not. Yes, there is blame there but Sylar is smart enough to realize that the blame is not all on Peter. He knows guilt - Peter's guilt is his own. They have shared so much. Surely Peter knows this as well as he does. If not better.

"How is Mohinder?" Peter asks him after a tense moment. Sylar stiffens at the mention of his lover's name but he is not angry with Peter for asking after his old friend. Sylar knows that it comes from a place of concern. More concern then Sylar has ever shown for Elle. For the woman Peter had sold his soul for, like he had sold his own for Mohinder.

"He has his good days and he has his bad," Sylar tells him quietly.

Peter nods. "Yeah, I know all about that…" His voice trails off to dead air as they stand there, unsure of each other. Peter shifts nervously, staring down at his feet. "I know you hate me," he mumbles under his breath.

That throws Sylar off. "You think I hate you?" His question is incredulous.

Peter is quiet for a moment. He nods slowly, as if to say, 'Of course you do.'

Sylar shakes his head. "It was…" It is on the tip of his tongue to reassure the other man but he cannot seem to form the words needed. They won't come.

Peter bites his lip. "Don't -" he says suddenly. "You don't need to."

"I know," Sylar says, and Peter shook his head at that.

"I heard you have been seeing Adam still."

"Did he tell you that?" Sylar asks, feeling his body tense at those words.

"No… but…"

"But what? Are you jealous, Petrelli?"

"Who am I suppose to be jealous of Sylar? You? Him?"

"Both of us. You always wanted everything, Peter – everyone. Nothing was ever enough for you."

Peter straightened, suddenly angry as he got in Sylar's face. "All I ever wanted was Elle, just her - you… mean nothing to me."

Sylar grabbed hold of his arm, pulled him close - their lips inches from one another. "Is that so, Peter?"

Peter looks up, watching him through his eyelashes. There is a pause as they grapple for breath and then Peter is pressing his lips to Sylar's own. Sylar pulls him tighter against him as the kiss deepens - all tongue and teeth and Peter's hand snakes around to bury itself in Sylar's hair.

"I guess I was feeling nostalgic," Peter whispers, a sad smile on his lips. One that Sylar traces with his finger.

"Me too," he admits as he takes Peter back into his arms.

 

VI  
Of Lies and Truth

Sylar and Mohinder, Elle and Claire

~Sometimes I breathe you in  
And I know you know  
And sometimes you take a swim  
Found your writing on my wall  
If my hearts soaking wet  
Boy your boots can leave a mess~

 

***

His skin feels gritty and used, and no matter how long he stands under the hot spray of the shower head, allowing steam to try and purify some of his guilt. And yet it is no use – it clings to his side like a burr. Resting his forehead and fists against the cold tiles, he tries to shove the flood of memories back but he can't – his memory allows him no respite. Everything is there in stark clarity – all the ugly, horrible things that he has done, and continues to do.

 

There is nothing for him now except this slow soul-rotting existence that he finds himself in. This trying to make it through one more day – to keep plodding along while every step leaves him closer to the edge and he feels himself start to break and wonders if Peter has these doubts, if they eat him up as badly as they do Sylar. Does he struggle this deeply with his sense of right and wrong? Sylar hates Peter for being better than he is, more good. Peter's heart, though bitter and corrupt, is not even a fraction as black and soulless as his own is. Of that he is sure.

 

He is in there long enough for the steaming hot water to turn icy and numbing. Shutting off the water, he reaches for a towel and with a sigh dries himself off quickly before knotting the towel around his waist and going into the bedroom, where he finds Mohinder sound asleep, curled onto his side, his back to him.

 

Sylar goes to the bed and sits down, and lightly touches Mohinder's back.

 

It is then that he realizes that Mohinder is awake, feigning sleep.

 

"Mohinder…"

 

"Where were you?"

 

Sylar slides his hand away, taken slightly aback by the anger in Mohinder's tone. He hasn't heard him upset or passionate about anything in so long now and even though the question brings forth more questions then he himself would be able to answer. A part of him is relieved, even elated.

 

"Are you going to answer me?" Mohinder asks a bit more sharply as he rolls over to the face the other man and there is definitely anger there, and hurt.

 

"Nowhere."

 

"It's 3 o'clock in the morning."

Sylar gets off the bed, and moves about the room - finding a pair of boxers in the drawer. He slides them on - all the time aware of Mohinder sitting up in bed, burning a hole into his back.

 

"Everything feels like a lie. Why is that?" Mohinder asks sadly, his voice a whisper, nothing more.

Sylar turns back towards him. He swallows before he makes his way over to him. Mohinder looks up as he approaches and the broken and defeated look on Mohinder's face cuts Sylar to the core, reminds him of every terrible thing he had ever done, every terrible thing he is doing and can't stop himself from continuing.

His hand finds Mohinder's - holding it, he meets his eyes.

"This is real. What we have is real. Of everything I know, I know that. We're real, Mohinder."

Mohinder pulls him down on top of him, their lips meeting in the middle. "Show me," Mohinder moans into his lips, and Sylar feels the burn of his lips, the sting of his tears as his mouth searches out Mohinder's own, and greedily swallows every moan he could pull from it, taking it for his own.

"Anything for you," Sylar tells him, "anything at all."

 

***

Claire stands at the doorway of the bedroom, and finds her breath stolen from her. Elle is standing by the window, her back to her. The light from the setting sun streaming through the parted curtains sets her skin aglow. She is wearing nothing a pair of miniscule panties, and a blue tank top; her legs are impossibly long; the curve of her back and shoulders is the most beautiful sight Claire has ever seen. Elle turns slightly so that her face is tilted in profile, fingertips playing with the drapes in hand and for the briefest of moments, Claire sees her as she was. She sees the softness and the hardness, sees all those lines that had once melded beautifully brought back from the past. She remembers running her hands up and down her body, cupping her face between her hands and being kissed hard enough to steal the air from her lungs.

It had been one time, one time that has been seared into her memories, into her heart, but Elle does not remember it.

She never will.

Claire knocks on the door, a soft rapt and waits as it takes Elle a second to register her presence, to turn towards her.

"Hi, Claire," Elle says softly. The words sound hoarse, coming from a broken voice, a broken girl.

"Hi, yourself," she says, reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes.

 

VII.

Equals

Sylar and Peter, Peter and Claire, Sylar and Adam

 

"Now you've cut out the flute  
From the throat of the loon  
At least when you cry now  
He cant hear you"

 

***

He counts each and every breath he makes, watches as his chest rises and falls as he sleeps. Propped up on one elbow, Sylar leans over him and presses a kiss to the side of his jaw, whispers his name.

Peter's eyes snap open and for a moment. He seems surprised, disoriented almost as if he has forgotten where he was and who was with.

"What time is it?" He mumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Sylar kisses him. "You have time, don't worry."

Peter sits up and Sylar watches him as he starts to look around the side of the bed for his discarded clothes. "I should go."

"Of course you should."

Peter looks back at him at those words, and he grimaces. "We can't start this again. This didn't fix anything the first time."

Sylar holds up a hand and stops him from going farther. "I know," he says and he does. He knows that either one of them needs the complication of the other. Still, it does little to ease what is troubling him, what had him wake Peter in the first place.

He looks away from Peter's worrying stare and drops his head in his hands. The sigh that comes out of him is wretched with grief, with the wear and tear of years behind it.

Peter inches closer but stops when Sylar holds his hand up again, keeping him at a distance. "We deserve better than this, Peter - we were special, chosen, Adam is right -"

"Don't you listen to him. Don't you dare!" Peter is angry now.

Sylar looks at him and suddenly Peter is taken aback by the look of heartbreak on his face. He who Peter always believed to be the strong one - the one who could not be swayed or broken, who despite the horror of who he was, at his core his love for Mohinder had been unshakeable, something that Peter never fully understood but accepted as truth.

"We were meant for better than this…"

Peter takes a deep breath. "We gave up on that. We lost that fight and we took what we had left, who we had left, and we made the most of it. We went on. We lived."

Sylar shakes his head.

"I don't believe that. Not anymore. Its empty now - Mohinder and I. It's a lie and it has always been a lie. What Adam and – "

"Adam is insane," Peter tries to reason. "Don't you see… it is the same thing he has been saying for years."

"Because it's true, Peter!" Sylar is suddenly furious and with those words, he has Peter in his arms and is flipping him over, pinning him to the bed. Peter goes to get up but Sylar holds him firmly. Peter knows he can get out from his grip quite easily but for the time he simply lays there and waits.

"You need to understand Peter, what we lost… we can have that back. We can have that back."

"What do you want?" Peter's voice is a whisper.

Sylar puts his lips to Peter's own, nuzzling his lips with his tongue. "Power… can you taste it, Peter? Taste it on my lips. We can have it. All of it. We can have everything."

 

***

He opens the door to the apartment and finds Claire standing there waiting for him.

He can tell that something is troubling her. There is always something troubling her. He understands, for he feels much the same way. Standing there for a moment simply looking at her, he searches for traces of that sweet, young girl he was knew. The girl who had once looked at him as if he was the only one who could save her, save them all. He had grown to depend on that love, pure and untainted, but now there was the wealth of pain and years behind her gaze, in every sharp and bitter line of her ageless face. He closes the door and she goes to him.

And he takes her in his arms as he has done a million times before, but this feels different. This feels like goodbye. He can still hear Sylar's words in his ear, feel the taste of him on his lips - feel his hands on his body, and he knows, Peter knows that there needs to be a decision made on his part. He needs to set things right. This isn't living and he feels it, feels his body start to crumble, come apart, and he is shaking.

"What is it?" Claire asks as she takes in the sight of his ashen face, cups it between her palms and forces him to look at her. He blinks as if slowly coming to. He sees her there, wide eyed and concerned, and for a moment, however brief, he sees her as he once did. That fateful night in which they had first met. Where he had saved her life, where his love for her started and never stopped.

He owes her so much more than this. He owes her more than lies and deceit, leaving her to be the caretaker to the woman he loves, however foolishly, however impractical.

"Peter, talk to me," she insists. But the words won't come. He cannot find the words needed to make right the dark things that plague his heart and consume his soul. He leans his forehead against hers and for a moment, they stand like that, so close and yet so far apart. This is killing him. He doesn't know what is right or what is wrong but he is standing on the edge of an abyss, and he is falling in after it. There is no air. There is no hope.

"Help me, Claire…please… help me."

 

***

He is soaked to the skin when he steps into the entryway. Adam doesn't say anything; he simply eyes him as he walks through the door and kicks it shut. He is dripping water, eyes burning, and he is trembling.

Adam takes a step towards him, and stops.

"I can't do it."

"Do what?" Adam asks carefully, knowing that he is treading a dangerous ground.

"Cut out my heart!" Sylar shouts at him. "I can't kill the only good thing left in me."

Adam nods as if he expected this, and he moves past him and goes to the sofa, sits down as calm as he pleases. Sylar watches him, breath heavy. "You knew I couldn't…"

Adam nods. "Then welcome to your life from here on out, angry and bitter and resentful. Your heart is already dead and has been for quite sometime."

Sylar meets his eyes, knowing that everything he said was true. "Tell me I can have it all – tell me."

"You can have it all," Adam reassures him. Sylar moved towards him shyly and hesitantly and Adam stands to greet him, cupping his face between his hands. "You and I, we can rule the world together…"

"Peter…"

"Peter is weak, has always been weak. You were always the strong one, and I need you. The world needs you."

"And Mohinder," Sylar drops his head down.

Adam tilted his chin up and made him look at him. "Mohinder is already dead to you. That is not the man you love – that man is dead. Let him go, become who you were meant to be."

"And who is that?" Sylar asked, the words coming out a choked whisper.

"My equal."

 

VIII.

Loose Ends

Peter and Elle, Sylar and Mohinder

 

~And if I'm wasting all your time  
This time  
Maybe you never learned to take  
And if I'm hanging on to your shade  
I guess I'm way beyond the pale~

 

***

She is sleeping when he comes into the room. She is on her stomach and her hair fanned out around her, her breathing light and easy. Coming to her side, he sits down next to her and gently touches her face, her shoulder. Watches as she sleeps unaware of him, lost somewhere in her dreams, dreams that he couldn't give her. As much as he had tried, after everything he has tried to do, there is nothing left of himself to give. He bends down and kisses the side of her face. His eyes are wet and he absently wipes away at them.

"I'm sorry. I know you won't understand." The words get stuck in his throat and he stops, knowing the words that he utters now are more for his benefit than for hers. He knows that when she awakens and finds him gone, she will grieve. Then she will forget him; he will become like every one of her ghosts, something that only gnaws along the edges of her psyche, revealing itself in odd moments, odd recollections. After a while his face, everything they ever were, will be lost to her. She will only remember the pain, and even those moments will be brief. It is he that will carry the scars of who they are and who they have always been, always will be.

 

***

In the end, it is both harder and easier than he could ever have imagined. One last time he tells himself, one last time to feel him beneath his hands, to taste his lips, to be inside him. He closes his eyes and thrusts up and into him, the warmth, the heat of the moment is like always electrifying and terrifying all at the same time.

It is only in the middle of it when Mohinder touches his face, and looks up at him, eyes pained, expression thoughtful that he realizes that he is crying.

"What is it?" Mohinder asks, but Sylar only puts his mouth over his, and continues the punishing, brutal pace of his thrusts, sending them both over the edge, rocking into him until they are both sated, both fulfilled and completed.

"What is it?" Mohinder repeats.

"It's nothing," Sylar breathes into his mouth.

In the end, he cannot bring himself to follow through. He doesn't pull that trigger once, he pulls it twice.

 

Once for Mohinder. Once for himself.

 

VIIII.

Devils and Gods

Peter and Adam, Adam and Hiro

 

~Devils and Gods now that's an idea  
But if we believe that its They who decide  
That's the ultimate detractor of crimes  
'cause Devils and Gods  
They are You and I~

 

***

"He's dead."

Adam turns at the sound of Peter's voice and nods, as if it is no surprise. Peter hadn't expected it to be. It wasn't a statement so much as it was a question. Peter wants to know, know why his mortal enemy, his lover, his friend, would end his life, end Mohinder's. But he already knows the truth. He already knows the reasons but he can not bring himself to utter them. In the end, Sylar was right. He had been the strong one. Peter was weak, had always been weak.

"Do you want me to mourn with you? Is that it, Peter?"

Peter shudders at those words. At Adam's coldness, and wonders if he too will one day learn to harden his own soul as Adam has, so that feeling can never touch it.

"I don't know what I want," Peter admits and Adam smiles knowingly.

"I think you do."

Peter doesn't speak. His shoulders drooped, his head lowered in defeat. Adam finds the thrill of putting him back together strangely exhilarating. Peter has finally left his life behind, left her and his guilt. It will eat at him for awhile, Adam knows, has always known. But in the end, out of his ruined and broken ashes, Adam will find the man he knew was always there. A worthy lover, someone to rule at his side, powerful and indispensable. He had long counted on Sylar to be that person, but it was clear he had not put enough faith in Peter.

"You did the right thing. She will be happier now. Without your face to remind her of your failures. You know this."

Peter looks up, as one lone trail slides down the length of his face and Adam is there to catch it. Then he is leaning in and covering Peter's mouth with his own.

"Welcome home," he says.

Later that night, Peter sleeps the sleep of a man who will never sleep peacefully again. He tosses and turns amongst the cool silk sheets that smell of their love-making, of choices made. Adam gets up after a while, and wanders into the living room and out onto the balcony. The sky teems with what seems to be a million stars and he breaths in the cool night air.

He can practically taste it, power. All of it.

A noise gives him pause, and he turns.

"Hiro?"

The man standing there is the same one he glimpsed earlier. A man swathed in black shadows, his expression one of quiet determination. One whose eyes speak of long hidden secrets and fears. This man is and is not his Hiro.

"Adam," he says and nods.

It is then that Adam sees the sword held in his long ago adversary hands. Adam looks to it nervously but nevertheless he does not panic; he doesn't know how to anymore. Age and time has given him confidence, a cool calculation. His heart pounds ever so slightly.

"What is it you want, Carp?" he says, throwing around an old affectionate nickname just to see how Hiro reacts and he doesn't.

"I think you know, Kensei," Hiro replies, quick to throw out old names as well.

"Tell me."

Hiro smiles but that smile is cruel, twisted. The sword in hand holds steady and determined. "All the lives you destroyed. The pain you have caused. I finally realized. I have been to the future. I have seen what you become, what Peter becomes… I cannot let that happen."

"I see…"

Hiro tilts his head questioningly.

"It was you, wasn't it?" A chill races up Adam's spine as realization dawns. "It was you that should have been with me… you, Hiro, how could I have been so bl -"

He doesn't get a chance to finish. Cold steel flashes and in a moments time, Adam's head falls away from his body. He crumbles to the ground, dead. Hiro closes his eyes, opens them, and lowers his head to the ground. He will give himself only a second to mourn, nothing more.

"It was inevitable," he says. And then he is gone. Nothing left behind now but a cold north breeze and the sounds of Peter waking, startled from his nightmares, to find himself alone.

 

X.

Save Us

Elle and Claire

~From in the shadow  
She calls  
And in the shadow  
She finds a way  
And in the shadow  
She crawls  
Clutching her faded photograph~

 

***

Across town, Elle comes to with a start. She is in tears and screaming but unsure of why. The pain is so real. So horrible, another scream lodges itself in her throat and refuses to move. Gasping, she tries to form the words but can't.

Claire is quick to hold her, soothe her; she has her arms around her, pulling the shaking girl to her, and soothing her with soft kisses against the side of her face, rocking her back and forth.

"Shh. I have you. It was a dream, just a dream…"

Elle shakes her head, unable to speak, desperate now to form the words that hit her hard and heavy. "Save us," she manages to whisper, "save us…"

Claire only holds her closer, her own eyes whelming with tears as she does so.

"I wish I could," she whispers, "I only wish I could."


End file.
